


Running Down To The Riptide

by onacrescendo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Little Space, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Relationships, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Safe-word use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:53:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onacrescendo/pseuds/onacrescendo
Summary: A scene goes wrong, and John struggles to be bought back from his drop. Lafayette and Alex do the best they can to help him through it.





	Running Down To The Riptide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [one_golden_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_golden_sun/gifts).



> Pro-tip, listen to/look up the lyrics to ‘Riptide’ by Vance Joy, it inspired a lot of this fic, as well as the wonderful @one_golden_sun uploading her final chapter of ‘Denial’ (I LOVED it! I read it and instantly began to write this), and my twisted love for theatrics and angst and fluff all in one. A short fic, but one I needed to get off of my chest. Enjoy!

“Fucking useless, can’t do anything but lay there, covered in your own come, make Daddy and I do all the work!”

Once, after a particularly morbid conversation fuelled by light night drinking and one too many bad memories shared, Angelica had pinpointed a moment of desperation, of sorrow, of mania, and of despair, in a simple phrase. “In the moments that you’re in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down,” she declared, a prettily painted fingernail circling the edges of a glass where the residual beer foam lace met a faded lipstick stain. Not much long after, Peggy had insisted they all go to bed, but the words had never left John.

“If you cannot be a good boy, then I do not see the point in you getting your way. You should know better than this.”

The idea almost felt like a missing puzzle piece. An explanation for all his heartache, for the way he had always retreated into himself, or ran away, when times became tough or there were new challenges to face. How introverted he became when he realised he was gay; how he’d at first ran away from a relationship with Alex and Lafayette; how hard moments in life caused him to regress; and even intense scenes took away his very core, left him a shell in desperate need of being put back together as he felt the familiar sinking into his head.

“For a hot piece of ass, you sure act like a pathetic little whore.”

But, right then, as Daddy used every possible inch of his skin, and Papi swore and degraded and humiliated him like the pathetic piece of nothing he was, John didn’t feel the freedom to swim down, down, down into nothing this time. Instead, it was like he was drowning, like water was filling up his lungs, like Daddy and Papi weren’t just hurting him on the outside, but his insides too, physically and emotionally, every private and secret area of himself exposed in a violent violation of everything he knew; and he was powerless to overcome it.

“Little one, is everything alright? Colour?”

Couldn’t remember a thing. Couldn’t remember the scene starting, or the scene ending. Couldn’t remember the loving breakfast Lafayette had made them, or the coffee Alex had brewed them, that very morning.

“Jack – colour? Colour!”

Couldn’t even fathom Lafayette and Alex and John, only Daddy, Papi, and their pitiful, vilified slut, kept around only because even tossing him out alone would be too good of a reward for the worst of the worst.

“Red, Alexander, he is clearly red!”

Didn’t register his own screams, his own cries, only the burning of his lungs and the stinging in his eyes. Didn’t fall deep under, but was dragged, kicking and screaming, bound tighter than any rope or harness.

_I just wanna know_

John didn’t remember blacking out, didn’t remember the screaming stopping. There wasn’t the sudden shock of being in water, as if snapping out of a trance. Instead, he felt the water pass through the spaces between his fingers all at once, resistant and yielding, as if as mighty as a current, and within him were two crashing waves pushing together to create one monumental riptide. Someone was saying his name, but he didn’t register it.

_If you're gonna stay_

Instead of the calming resurgence, John felt suspended. Not in the scene, not out of the scene. Eyelids heavy and unfocused, lungs and chest tight. He needed to get out, needed to get to the surface, began to battle with the waves, thrashing and shaking and breathing harder and harder with every single urge that ignited within him to get out, to escape, to swim back up, up, up. But there is no up if you didn’t go down in the first place.

_I just gotta know_

The only thing that stopped John’s flaying was the way his outstretched fist accidentally thumped something or other. Cold, ceramic, hard, painful. The pain radiated through him, felt the way a bruise was bubbling under his skin, beginning to blossom, to rise up to the surface. This was good; this, he could work with. There was less water around him, all he had to do was focus on the feeling, follow it. Figure out what the noises he could hear were, why he could feel another pair of arms holding him tightly, so tightly, as if they were afraid to let go.

_I can't have it any other way_

“John!”

Finally opened his eyes, blinked once, twice, three times, adjusted to the sudden blinding light, squinted at its menacing brightness. In front of him was Papi’s face, brows furrowed, eyes heavy and dark, repeatedly saying his name over and over. Another look, an unreadable one, crossed over Papi’s face once he realised his eyes were open.

“Oh my God, Jack!” He lunged forward, arms out. Fear, panic. Papi was going to hurt him again – had the scene ended? Was it okay to punish him? Was he still being bad, dirty, unclean, useless? – Instinctively turned away, shaking again, buried his head in his shoulder and bit back a yell. Heard more heated sounds, French, Daddy was holding him. They were angry, both of them. Must be angry at John. Tried to find the words to apologise, to plead for forgiveness, to beg to stay, but they got stuck in his dry throat; lodged, wedged there digging in as sharp as glass.

“Jack? Baby boy?” Said Papi, softer this time. Slowly, John turned towards him, shrouded a little by the curls of his damp hair. “Hey!” He exclaimed, causing John to jolt. “Hey…” He repeated, calmer, like trying to approach a baby deer. “How are you feeling baby?”

_Dirty, scared, confused, worthless, filthy_ were all answers running through John’s head all at once, but they stayed jammed in his throat. Opted instead for just staring blankly at Papi, before lowering his gaze.

“Okay, you don’t want to talk… That’s- that’s okay.” Papi looked up imploringly at Daddy, John turned to do the same.

Daddy muttered something in French, words calming, washing over John like a wave. Eyes searching, arms strong and protective, yet he still felt on edge, as if it were all a ruse. A ploy to cover how much they hated him, were going to get rid of him, _stupid, ugly, selfish, bad, dirty, whore-_

“Hush, mon amour…” Daddy shushed him. Only then did John realise he was crying; hard, heavy sobs that were catching with every breath. Let Daddy stroke his hair as he slowly calmed, the sobs turning into silent tears and shivers. “…We are going to wash you now, make you clean.”

Instead of responding, John lifted the hand that Daddy had taken into his own, traced along the knuckles, the fingertips, the volar plates. Lingered over older burn scars from baking, over scratches, slightly wrinkled skin, sunspots. Let Daddy and Papi gently work their way across his body, cleaning him.

Normally, this would begin the stage where John felt relaxed, felt as if he were being put back together, but the fear, the pain, the burning of his heart and lungs and throat, stayed, alongside the palpitations and the anxiety and the fear that this was all an extensive illusion, a fabrication that was waiting to be pulled apart at the seams. It was impossible to fix what was irreparably broken; it could be shined, buffed, cared for, but never repaired. Why would Daddy and Papi waste their time on covering up what a stupid selfish slut he was, when they could find someone shiny and new, someone not broken, someone better? The tears continued to fall harder and harder as bath time drew to a close.  

The world outside of his head became background noise again, only snippets of voices rising above the static.

“Laf, he’s still upset, normally he’s fine by now…”

“There is nothing else we can do but continue the aftercare as best we can. Go shower, we will be here when you get back.”

“But-”

“-Please, Alex, I cannot have you stressed out from not being able to come down from the scene too.”

More words were spoken in French, biting, harsh, not the calming mantra Jack adored. Papi left, John hiccupped as more tears fell and he chewed on his thumbnail anxiously. Daddy took his hand from his mouth, kissed it, tried to make eye contact, but he felt too ashamed of himself. Didn’t deserve Daddy.

“Jacky, please look at me.” Said Daddy softly. Despite his reservations, John knew he couldn’t afford to disobey another order. Disobedient little ones get discarded like old gum, spat out on the sidewalk to be trodden on and walked all over. Cried harder as he shyly met Daddy’s eyes, sunken and hollow and remorseful, and John knew it was his fault. Disgraceful.

“That’s it, thank you. You are such good boy, Daddy and Papi have much of love for you.” Praised Daddy, and though he felt bad for mixing Daddy up so much his English slipped, John yearned at the scraps of kindness being thrown his way. The tears ebbed away a little as he cautiously reached out to take Daddy’s hand. Daddy kissed it, held it to his cheek for a moment, before he sighed, looking utterly forlorn.

“Let us get you all nice and the cosy, yes?” Asked Daddy. John nodded, and, despite the lack of verbal communication, Daddy looked almost blessed by the response. Hurried to get the organic unscented lotion, rubbed lovingly and carefully into his skin, and for a pure, shining moment, he felt the tides calm and settle, the fear dissipating a little. At least the scene was definitely over, there’d be no more pain, no more humiliation. Began to relax the tension he held in his body, let Daddy loosen every muscle, and keened happily when Daddy finished the ritual with a gentle kiss pressed to his jaw.

Allowing his mind to go blank, to forgo thought in favour of sensation, John was aided in putting on a pair of check pyjama pants and a t-shirt with a seal on it (affectionately named ‘Bianca Two’). Daddy made move to braid his hair, but the feeling was too much, the pulling, the intrusion, felt grating on his scalp. Whined and jerked away, hands over his head, retreating into himself with a whimper, shook his head over and over.

“Little one, will you please let Daddy braid your hair?” John heard from behind him. If he’d have looked around, he’d have seen the worry that wracked his partner, face fallen. Instead, he curled his fingers around the back of his neck, crouched over himself, anything to avoid any more jarring feelings. Like nails on a chalkboard.

“Shit, what’s going on?” Papi’s voice could suddenly be heard.

“He freaked when I tried to do the braiding with his hair.”

John didn’t pay attention to the rest of the words exchanged, only listened to fretful tones, and couldn’t help but feel to blame. What good was he if he couldn’t make Daddy and Papi feel good, only feel anxiety?

“Jack?” Papi’s voice again, this time much closer. John opened his eyes (despite not remembering closing them in the first place), saw Papi with a vexatious look on his face aimed directly at him. “Hey baby boy, uh…” Shot a look back at Daddy for a moment, before turning back to John. “…Do you want a snack and a movie? Any one you want. Promise we won’t touch you without your permission, okay?”

Considering a moment, John nodded, bit his lip to avoid the welling of tears in his eyes, then looked to Daddy to pick him up. Knew he could handle that. Took Daddy a moment to catch on, but eventually Papi moved out of the way so Daddy could get closer, tentatively kneeling down. “Can I have a colour, sweet thing, please?”

Talking was too much. Instead, John reached out to the dresser, where Pokey sat. Pointed at the greenness of his shell, nodded, and after a moment Daddy understood, took him in his arms. Held John tighter when he buried his head in the crook of his neck. Normally, he’d be at the table, or the breakfast bar, but this time Daddy set him down on the couch, covered him in a blanket and placed Bianca beside him as he clutched Pokey to his chest.

Papi sat with him. Scrolled through the Kids section of Netflix, reading out some of the titles, until eventually John tugged on his t-shirt to signal he wanted to watch ‘How To Train Your Dragon’. Hesitantly, Papi reached forward, took John’s hand in his own, before leaning closer. After a couple of minutes, John was resting his head on Papi’s shoulders, not as entangled as they normally would be, but a step forward nonetheless. Stayed there, watching the movie, a perfect stillness between them. John felt as if he were half of a balanced fulcrum.

“ _Perdóname_.” Muttered Papi, full of sorrow, as he pressed a kiss to John’s forehead. Struck his heart like lightening, knew it meant _forgive me_ , but didn’t understand why. John was the bad one, the one who couldn’t play properly in the scene, who needed to be punished. In response, John just clung tighter to Papi, couldn’t stand the thought of ever having to let go.

Around the time Toothless was being introduced into the narrative, Daddy reappeared. A pouch of orange Capri-Sun in one hand, a bowl of apple and grape slices in the other. Spoke to Papi in French.

“He’s doing good.” When Daddy gave an incredulous look, Papi shrugged. “I’m speaking English, he’s right here.”

“That is not what I meant.” Sighed Daddy. After putting down the snacks, he sat next to John slowly, stroked patterns calmingly onto the back of his hand. “Mon cher, would you like something to eat?” John nodded again. Opened his mouth, let himself be fed fruit and juice like a baby bird.

By the time John had finished his food, he had relaxed considerably. Still felt raw, and off, and discordant, but didn’t feel as stranded. However, the moment Daddy took his place at John’s side, holding him close as possible whilst also allowing him to be sandwiched against Papi, the panic rose again.

The love, the compassion, the sweetness. It felt wrong, a lie. Why were they being nice now? Why, when not an hour ago they had John sandwiched between them again, only to hurt, to swear, to insult, be mean? Which was the truth, which was the lie? He began to shift uncomfortably, but Daddy and Papi only held him tighter.

Tears quickly reappeared as John began to shake again. Needed Daddy and Papi to get off of him, but also needed them to get closer. Needed to know where he stood, how to understand the difference between scene and post-scene, the lines were too fuzzy.

“Turn off the film, Laf, fuck.” Papi and Daddy scrambled for the remote, paused it, turned towards John quickly.

“I’m sorry, baby boy, I should have known dragons would have been a bit much right now. Should have picked something with more singing.” Papi went to stroke his arm, but John flinched, but had nowhere to go. Stuck in the middle of the couch. Words stuck in his throat. Stuck in his own head.

No one knew where to go from there. Never had he reacted so adversely to aftercare post-scene. Even when he didn’t talk, he at least relaxed and went through the motions. Even comforting John, holding him, seemed to make him feel worse. A gut-wrenched Alex and Lafayette watched on as the love of their life cried himself out, like a flame burning everything up, until it had nothing left to burn.

Five long minutes of silence, and then-

“-Wasn’t the movie.” John murmured, the slight rasp tone in his small voice unsurprising. Kept his eyes trained to the ground, continued to rock slightly back and forth. Even without the sobs, his eyes and head still ached, the tears still flowed.  

“Then what was it?” Daddy asked. Looked slightly relieved that, even though things had gone wrong, at least John was talking.

“Too much.” He added. No one rushed him, waited for him to carry on. “Daddy and Papi hurt me in the scene. Pulled my hair. Trapped me. No one praised me, no one stopped, even when I p-pushed my limits to be good.”

“Oh.” Said Papi flatly, as if the penny was dropping. “Baby, that was a scene, all of it, this isn’t a scene anymore. We love you.”

Quickly, Daddy spoke up, words spoken hastily in his need to keep the situation controlled, to calm John down. “Non, never should you have to push your limits. If you need to say yellow, or red, that is not disobedience. That is looking after yourself; that is good.” He got off of the couch, kneeled down below John, so he could look him in the eyes. Big and exploring. “We will never, ever push farther than you can genuinely handle. I did not check enough, I did not pull you out of the scene properly, I did not reassure you of this.” There was a tremble to Daddy’s words, bottom lip shaking. “For this, I am so sorry, little one.”

Without a moment to spare, Papi got down next to Daddy. Put his arm around him. “I didn’t check either, don’t blame yourself. We’re all responsible in a scene, especially when Jack’s little.”

“Can I have your hand to hold?” Daddy asked. It took a moment for John to realise he was talking to him, but he nodded nonetheless. Felt safe when Daddy’s hands encompassed his own, savoured the feeling of a calloused thumb trace up and down his knuckles. “We love you, Jack. We will always, always want you – always _need_ you – because we love you so, so much.” Began to answer John’s fears before he even raised them. “You are more than enough, you are everything to us.”

“You’re everything to me too.” Whispered John, looking between Papi and Daddy.

“Shall we finish the movie?” Asked Papi. John nodded.

The two got back on the sofa next to John, asked if they could be close to him, and he nodded. Watched the rest of the film in silence, mesmerised by the beautiful dragon designs and colours of the landscape. By the time the credits had rolled, John’s eyes had slipped shut, so he allowed himself to be carried to bed, placed with Bianca and Pokey in the middle of the bed. Papi and Daddy got either side of him.

“I think, before we next do anything else, we need to have another discussion about colours and limits.” Daddy suggested.

“Good idea.” Agreed Papi. “I still don’t understand why this scene was so bad, though, I mean, it’s not the worst we’ve ever-”

“-Alexander.” Said Daddy warningly. “Now is not the time.”

“’S’okay.” Mumbled John, fiddling with Pokey’s flipper. “When things get intense, it’s like falling. ‘Cept this time, it wasn’t like falling, it was like being dragged. Every direction. Pulled apart. Like when Papi’s in a storm.”

Beside him, John felt Papi tense up. “…That makes sense.”

“Sorry I reacted so badly. Sorry I didn’t use the colour system properly, that I was-”

“-Hush.” Daddy pulled John into a hug, held him there. “We were all at fault, you have nothing to feel bad about. You’re so good for us.” Let John go, only to lean forward and kiss him. Slow, assured, grounding. At the same time, Papi laced their fingers together, kissed his neck. Nothing lasted too long though, everyone too tired, especially John. Felt ready to let the raw emotions pushed to the surface find their way back down again now.

“Night-night.” John mumbled, beginning to doze off.

“Goodnight, my loves.” Daddy said, placing his arm over John and Papi.

“Dulces sueños.” Replied Papi lovingly, chuckling a little afterwards. “Can’t believe I’m in love with two saps.”

“Heh, I make the three of us saps, mon chou.”

“Shut up.”

The three of them laughed, and for the first time since the scene had originally began, John felt a little more in tune with himself, with his lovers. Listened to New York City and its tendency to never sleep act as white noise, the hustle and bustle of night life contrasting beautifully with the knowledge that there was nowhere John would rather be than right where he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos would mean the world to me, as well as checking out my other fics in this verse, The Best Medicine and A Cut Above The Galaxies (on my profile).  
> I began this not long after part 3 of 'Denial' came out on @one_golden_sun's AO3, and finished it a day later, so I'm sorry if it's a bit rushed or not so good. I just needed to get it off my chest!  
> I love the PGT verse so much, as well as Hamilton in general, if anyone happens to have any prompts/suggestions I'm happy to hear them :)  
> -M


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